


Out of Time

by AngelsofGlory666



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta John, Heartbreak, M/M, Misunderstandings, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 03:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12449112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsofGlory666/pseuds/AngelsofGlory666
Summary: John was Sherlock’s friend with benefits, but for John… Sherlock was everything. Only… Sherlock is a alpha and John is a beta. John always knew this arrangement between them couldn’t last. One day Sherlock would find an omega to mate with and then he’d have to let Sherlock go, no matter how it would destroy him. Omegas were the intended bond mates to alphas. Being a beta, John knew he held no place in Sherlock’s life, apart from being a second, and that would destroy him. That dreaded day came too soon. John was left with two choices... Become Sherlock’s second, or leave. John wasn’t a runner, but this… John couldn’t take this, so he accepted Mycroft’s offer and left Sherlock before the alpha could leave him.





	Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> This story is being reposted along with some of my other works. I deleted all my stories in a moment of anger because of a hurtful comment. It was one of the worst and cruelest...
> 
> I'm getting angry again remembering it. Moving on, I received a message from a reader after having deleted everything. They reminded me of why I started writing. They felt for my stories the way I felt for fan fiction. I realized I shouldn't hurt others just because of one stupid jerk. So, sorry to my readers. I don't usually get like this but... yeah, never had a comment like that ass's before. Sorry, still angry. It will take some time to work through that anger.
> 
> Anyways, I will slowly post my stories back up on AO3. It might take a month or so, but I'll finish eventually.

_God, he wasn’t even gay._

“ _Urghn!_ ” John gurgled in the back of his throat, eyes clamped shut, wrists trembling, tugging against the tight ropes restricting his movements.

_John never looked at a man in this way… Not once._

Thrashing his head against the pillow under him, John bleated a pitiful whine. The weight of another, pressing over him, hips wedged between his spread legs. Lengthy slender fingers digging into the flesh of his inner thighs, spreading him beyond what he could take, but John had to take it, had to endure it, because — _Fuck!_ — he didn’t know. He didn’t know anymore.

_This man… He wasn’t like the rest. He was unlike any human out there…_

“ _Jawn_.” The summons of attention came, panting against his sensitive ear and a full body shiver ran through him.

_Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me!_

Teeth dug deep into his bottom lip, knees butted under his ass, a glorious hung fucking cock buried so deep within him, John felt claimed. A knot growing, breeching his rim, stretching him wide and taking him, breeding him and it was wonderful. So fucking wonderful.

_I love you. God, please, I need you to mark me, make me yours. Bite me. Fucking bite me!_

Sea green eyes, so beautiful, nothing could possibly compare in shade. So wonderfully ethereal and enchanting; they’d cast their spell long ago, during the first meeting in that lab. 

“Sherlock.” John quivered, eyes gleaming, mouth parting in a breathless exhale, letting go, feeling something within break, burst into a million pieces as he came. Hot pearly cum coated his chest. 

“ _Jawn, Jawn, Jawn._ ” Sherlock excitedly chanted, body going taunt, stilling mid-thrust and suddenly John felt filled with warm release.

Shutting his eyes, John inhaled heavily of the scent within the room, of an unbound alpha… Strong and pungent with a hint of sweetness: musk, cinnamon, lemon and mint. John scented himself, an unbound beta, vanilla, hazelnut and musk. They mixed so well, so perfectly, impossibly so. A beta’s scent should never compliment an alpha’s, it wasn’t normal, unheard of. Alphas were to bond with omegas, that was the way of the world. Betas were the lovers of alphas, but never the bond mates. Never.

_John wasn’t gay. He’d never been attracted to a man. That all changed when he met him, Sherlock Holmes, his flat mate of three years… His friend with benefits since the very day he’d officially moved into 221B Baker Street._

John watched voicelessly as Sherlock stared down at him, eyes open and seemingly in need of something, John wouldn’t dare presume to know of what. He couldn’t risk exposing his true feelings because he knew that this wouldn’t last. Eventually Sherlock would bond himself with an omega and all he could hope for then was to be Sherlock’s second, a lover who never bore the bite mark or claim of an alpha mate. John wouldn’t want that. He didn’t. He’d leave — he truly would. It didn’t matter that alphas didn’t knot without the intent to. Sherlock had been knotting him since the very first time they’d slept together, _always_. That had to mean something. Didn’t it? 

John looked away, finding the longer he stared at Sherlock the more his eyes stung. Sherlock shifted over him, gentle hands working at the knotted rope tying his wrists to the headboard. John brought his hands close, resting on his chest and staring away at the wall. Sherlock brought him close into his arms, rolled them over on their side, still knotted securely within him and began stroking his back, burying his head in his hair and inhaling his scent almost amorously. John’s lashes felt damp, but he managed to withhold his tears.

The silence grew heavy, loaded, so unlike how it’d been months before, but things were changing… Changing for John… Sherlock’s knot slowly receded until at last his cock slipped from out of him. John didn’t waste time as he rose from Sherlock’s bed—or was it their bed? He’d been sleeping in it since day one of moving in, but not as of the last two months, and that was what mattered. 

John sat at the edge of the bed, feeling Sherlock’s release pooling under him and grimaced—he wasn’t an omega or a woman, he couldn’t absorb Sherlock’s seed. He was sterile in this union. He’d never be able to give Sherlock children and that was what was drawing John away.

A hand brushed over his lower back and John turned around to find Sherlock laying near him, staring in that same needy way. John couldn’t give Sherlock anymore. He’d given Sherlock his body, heart and soul, but God help him, John didn’t think he could lie in bed and have Sherlock hold him as he knew Sherlock would. Holding him like he was the most precious thing on this earth when they both knew he wasn’t. He was only a beta and he could never give Sherlock what he deserved. 

John turned away, grabbed his discarded clothes from the ground and voicelessly exited the room, shutting the alpha’s door with a soft click and headed for his own room. The moment he shut the door of his room, John leaned heavily against it and exhaled a stuttering breath, blinking his eyes hurriedly, attempting to hold within all the pain tormenting his heart.

Two months ago Mycroft had paid them a visit and Sherlock had been positively vicious with Mycroft. The older gentleman had been calling Sherlock more often and, each time he had, John had witnessed the darkening rage boiling through Sherlock as he ignored his brother’s calls. Apparently, Mycroft hadn’t liked that at all and came to the flat to once and for all talk with Sherlock. John had just exited their—Sherlock’s room when he’d noticed the two in a heated staring match. 

Sherlock then requested John go get them some milk while he dealt with his brother and John sensing the two wanted their privacy, conformed. When he’d come home Mycroft was gone and Sherlock was playing an erratic, intense piece of music on his violin. John knew the meeting with Mycroft must have gone wrong and he wanted to ask, but John understood Sherlock needed time to think. Sherlock had told him the very first time they’d met that he liked to play his violin when he needed to think, so John left Sherlock to his music. 

As John prepared dinner, Sherlock stopped playing and set his violin and bow on the study table and mutely entered the kitchen. He hadn’t the chance to ask if Sherlock wanted salad or steamed vegetables before the alpha pinned him against the refrigerator and claimed his mouth as his own. It was all hands and lips and John welcomed Sherlock’s need for intimacy, understanding right then, Sherlock needed John and the comfort he could provide. They didn’t eat dinner that night, instead Sherlock fucked John against the refrigerator, kitchen table, hallway floor, and lastly on his bed, before they’d collapsed completely exhausted. 

John could still recall how dotingly their last go of it had been. It was slow, tender and soft. Sherlock kissed John with all the care he possessed and that was surprisingly a whole lot more than John ever believed Sherlock had. After, Sherlock held John so tightly to him and slept with his face buried in John’s neck, scenting him even after he’d drifted off to sleep. John didn’t understand it then, but he soon realized what had bothered Sherlock so much the next day.

Mycroft came to John’s work, pretending to be a patient under a false name and when John opened the door to the exam room to find a grinning Mycroft, John knew whatever Mycroft was there for wasn’t good. 

John reluctantly entered the room and seated himself in his chair, while Mycroft perched himself on the patient bed and began explaining himself. 

“I understand you and Sherlock have an _arrangement_ , but, I’m afraid that must now end.”

“Who do you think you are to come to my place of employment and tell me what to do?” John sneered at the pompously smirking gentleman.

“I’m not looking to argue with you. I’m merely here on a family matter that you, I’m afraid, are hindering in its progression.”

John glared Mycroft down. Screw him and his judgment on what he and Sherlock had. He didn’t need to explain himself to him.

“Sherlock is arranged to be married.”

Time stopped; the agonizing stabbing of his chest, the sickening churning of his stomach, however, did not. 

“Yes. I’m sorry if this comes to you as a surprise, but Sherlock has been engaged to marry for the last five years and now that his omega has finished her schooling, she is ready to marry. Before you start speaking about this being an arrangement planned by his family, Sherlock played a part in it as well — he was the one who chose this omega to marry and decided to marry her after she finished her schooling.” 

“Leave.” John rasped, without bite, unable to summon up the necessary anger, he’d felt plenty of earlier.

“End it John, before it gets messy. He’s to be married in October, the planning has already begun. Who knows, maybe after the honeymoon is over, Sherlock might take you back as his second, but for the time being I think it would be best you separated.” 

“I said… leave.”

“It is a lot to take in, but do understand, fighting the inevitable will only make things harder on you. You’re a beta and a man; you can’t give Sherlock kin. This omega can. Don’t destroy Sherlock’s future out of selfishness and don’t allow Sherlock’s obligation to hinder him in his duty as an alpha. If I wasn’t a beta myself, I could take on this responsibility, but as I’m not an alpha, this duty rests on Sherlock.”

John rose from his chair, Mycroft wasn’t leaving, and the more he said the more devastated John became. He couldn’t do this. He needed to leave and so he did. He stepped outside of the room, walked down the hall of the clinic, out of the building and kept on walking, nowhere in particular, but needing distance. Distance from Mycroft, distance from his workplace, his life, and the paining realization that he was about to lose everything that mattered to him. The one person he’d loved for so long, who he’d wanted to remain with till the very end, the man he’d opened himself up to and loved with all his heart, Sherlock.

John moved deeper into his room and seated himself on the foot of his bed, shucking his clothing to the floor and burying his head in his hands.

“Two weeks left.” John whispered to himself. 

Two more weeks until John left Sherlock. Three more weeks until Sherlock was to marry the omega.

. . .

John claimed Sherlock’s lips as his own every chance he could. Every darkened alley they’d entered on a case. Every tree they hid behind as not to be seen by their suspect they tailed, behind a building near crime scenes, in the cab as they drove around the city. Each and every opportunity that presented itself, John took. Surprising the alpha, as Sherlock stilled in John’s constricting arms for brief moments, words dying away, and when John began to pull back, only then would Sherlock’s mind catch up with John’s actions and needs. Then the alpha would pin John against the nearest wall or tree, and consume his mouth in the most zealous kiss John ever experienced. 

They had sex every day, four or more times a day. The standing record so far was seven. John’s need pushed his want for more copulation. Even for friends with benefits they had more sex than committed couples did, John was sure of this. Normally they’d copulate three times in a day, but when working on a case the consistency lowered to two or one time in a day. Now though, knowing that John didn’t have much time left with Sherlock, he was taking more than he’d ever allowed himself before. 

John would enter Sherlock’s room early in the morning, wake the slumbering alpha with his mouth descending on Sherlock’s flaccid cock and love it to hardness, until Sherlock drifted away from the fog of sleep to find John greedily sucking his cock and moan for want of more. 

Other times, John would enter the bathroom as Sherlock showered, readying himself for the day. John would enter the shower and spoil Sherlock’s efforts of cleaning himself, and then they’d wash each other, hands fondly stroking at flesh, Sherlock nuzzling John’s neck and kissing him, pleasantly surprised by his gift. 

Sometimes, John would hurriedly prepare himself in his room, before going to Sherlock’s. Then he’d rub his bare slicked up ass against Sherlock’s pelvis and moan out his name until the alpha woke. He’d unashamedly beg for his alpha to fill him up, to take him apart, and to ruin him for anyone else and Sherlock would growl a hungry snarl and he’d take him then. Sherlock would fuck John until he was left a trembling mess. After, John wouldn’t stay long. He’d rise from the bed, ignoring that needy look of the alpha and shakily stumble to his room. He’d bury his face deep in his pillow and muffle the pained keening of his beta in grief he couldn’t have more than this. 

During the day time, Sherlock would be busy working on an experiment, playing the violin, working a case, and John would seek Sherlock out. Wrapping his arms from behind the genius as he experimented with human organs and hum against a pale ear, “Fuck me, Sherlock. Give me your knot. Breed me.” Sherlock would whimper in want of it and turn to claim John’s mouth. John would eagerly sit himself on Sherlock’s lap and they’d snog like horny teenagers before John would find himself bent over the table, staring in a daze at human organs as the alpha shoved his pants down and tongued and fingered his hole until it was a sopping mess, widened and ready for the alpha, who would shove his magnificent alpha cock in him. Pounding into him as if he were a slutty omega able to take his alpha cock when he was only a beta and his body could just barely endure it all, but John would. He’d do it all because he loved Sherlock and Sherlock would fuck him so good, John would forget about the paining truth for some time after. 

When Sherlock played the violin John would watch him from afar. His eyes burning with lust, for the need to be that violin and have Sherlock’s delicately slender fingers twiddle with his body, making him strum out noises of pure enjoyment. John would wander closer to the alpha, until he stood mere inches from him and Sherlock would meet his gaze, still playing, but he’d smile contentedly, as if this was all he needed. As if 221B was their home, the violin their music, and John was his forever. John’s heart would throb and he’d feel great woe, knowing this would not last, that Sherlock had chosen an omega and that soon, this home would be his home no longer. Sherlock’s music would be for another’s ears... Sherlock’s attentions would be for the omega... 

John’s hand would rise and press against Sherlock’s, stilling the music that was suddenly unbearable to listen to. Sherlock would pull the violin away from his shoulder and John would wrap his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and kiss him, full of need, and yearn for more. Sherlock would set his violin and bow down on whatever was near and then John would moan, delighted when Sherlock held him so tightly. They’d kiss their way to the sofa, down to the floor, or to Sherlock’s room. Then Sherlock would debauch John with his hands, his mouth and his knot, until John was whimpering in the alpha’s arms, taking his knot though his beta body protested against the painful stretch of it each and every time. John wasn’t an omega. His body wasn’t made to take an alpha’s knot. Knotting was between an alpha and an omega, it was of a bond between the two that a beta could never experience, but still Sherlock defied the rules of such and during this time, John liked to allow himself to believe it was because Sherlock loved him, that he had chosen John as his bond mate. 

Soon though, the high of sex would dwindle, as so too would Sherlock’s knot and John would remind himself that it wasn’t so. Sherlock was an alpha and no matter how many betas an alpha bedded, they’d always settle down with an omega, because that was the way of the world, that was biology, and it was instinct to mate an omega. Betas were just the mistresses and secret lovers of an alpha, and John wasn’t Sherlock’s lover. John was just a friend with benefits. 

John used to tell himself that wasn’t true, because why would Sherlock knot him, why would Sherlock never date or sleep with someone else, why would they both commit themselves to this arrangement for three years and reject every flirtatious man or woman to cross their paths if this was just simply a friends with benefits arrangement?

Friends with benefits didn’t fuck three or more times a day. Friends with benefits didn’t stop dating or sleeping around with others. Friends with benefits didn’t sleep in the same bed for three years together. Friends with benefits didn’t knot. Friends with benefits didn’t live like committed couples. 

John had stupidly hoped this was just Sherlock’s strange way of expressing he might secretly feel more for John. Sherlock found it difficult to express his feelings and John thought… He thought if Sherlock couldn’t say those three words, these were the actions that solidified his true feelings, but then Mycroft came and told him how Sherlock truly viewed him. John was simply Sherlock’s sex buddy, a warm body he could spend his release in until his omega was ready to marry and bond.

This didn’t stop John from taking the moments he could get. Even when Sherlock was working a case, John would steer the alpha's attentions on him, so that he was number one. John would pull Sherlock’s chair away from the study table where the consultant detective was looking over the paper works of their case. He’d seat himself on Sherlock’s lap and kiss him hard, bruising lips, nipping and soothing the swelling of his lips as he did so and Sherlock would groan into his mouth, kissing him with just as much need, then Sherlock would clear off the table with a swoop of his arm, seat John over it and take him fast and hard. John would then be left lying on the table in a mess of hot cum with a fat knot deep within his ass, packing his hole full of Sherlock’s release. John would stare up at the sex flushed alpha looming above him, lean arms at either side of his chest where the alpha pressed his hands supporting his weight as he leaned down and planted tender, caring kisses on the stunned John. He wasn’t complaining though, John eagerly took every one of those gentle kisses the alpha bestowed upon him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A hand reached out and grasped his wrist, stopping John from slipping off the bed that was once theirs. John turned and met Sherlock’s gaze, face rosy from their recent exertion and that same needy expression was in the alpha’s eyes.

 _Six more day’s left…_ John morbidly reminded himself, and shut his eyes to hinder the dam of tears threatening to be released.

“Stay.” Sherlock rasped, voice raw from sex and all John wanted to do was crawl back into Sherlock’s bed, to stake his claim. Claim Sherlock as his…

John wanted to be selfish. He wanted to ask Sherlock to choose him and not marry that omega. To stay with him and continue being exclusively his, but he knew he couldn’t. There had been so many stories in tabloids of celebrity alphas having a scandal in relation with a jilted beta lover. A beta who became a home wrecker, demanding the alpha choose them and so often were those betas rejected by their alpha. Omegas were the intended bond mate to alphas. Betas were the scraps. Betas mated with betas. 

John couldn’t give Sherlock what he really needed. He wasn’t as submissive or as nurturing as an omega, nor was he fertile. Sherlock deserved a chance to start a life with an omega. Sherlock deserved to have children. Sherlock deserved more than a broken beta solider could offer him. 

John opened his glistening eyes and met those needy sea green, and letting out a broken sob of grief, he lunged forward and claimed Sherlock’s lips. He kissed him with a need unparallel to any other and then his hands were carding through sweat-damp locks and his teeth nipped at kissed-bruised lips. Sherlock’s arms encircled John close to him and rolled him over. 

Sherlock broke the kiss to stare down at John with a heated gaze, fangs protruded from his lips as he panted above the beta. John moaned under him, bucking his hips up, his hardening length pressing against Sherlock’s twitching, new-found arousal. Then it was all tongues, hands, and keening for more. 

After their second go that night, John still couldn’t bear to stay longer than it took for him to crawl off the bed. And when Sherlock grasped his wrist this time, John didn’t look back as he pulled away from the touch and began the long path to his room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was agitated. John could scent it. The alpha was supposed to be focusing on the crime scene, but instead he kept glancing over at John, features unreadable but tensed. John still wasn’t sleeping in Sherlock’s room and John knew Sherlock was starting to lose his patience with him. John looked away from the alpha and left the crime scene to get some fresh air. If he left Sherlock alone, he might be able to focus better on the case. 

John sat outside of the apartment complex where the victim had been murdered and stared at the gray skies. 

“It’s going to rain.” John bitterly thought. His last day with Sherlock and it was going to bloody rain, how very poetic. John bitterly laughed at his pathetic life. 

The chiming of his mobile rang and John retrieved it to see he’d received a text from an unknown number, but not an unknown sender. 

_The jet is ready to take you._

John blinked back the tears and stared back up at the skies, wishing the answer to his dilemma was written in the darkened clouds. All he received was a rumble of thunder from a distance.

 _I love you, Sherlock._ John released a shaky breath and glanced back at the building Sherlock was within along with a swarm of officers. 

_Give me one hour.  
JW_

John texted before he turned and entered the building.

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to finish collecting all the required information he needed from observing the crime scene. Sherlock wanted to head back to the flat to organize his thoughts and further contemplate the case, but John stilled the alpha with a hand on his arm. Sherlock met his gaze, curiously, and John told the alpha they should eat first. It had been a while since Sherlock had last eaten and he wanted to reassure himself that Sherlock had something in him before… he left. 

“You need to start eating regularly Sherlock.”John murmured softly, staring across the table and at the alpha chewing his pasta within Angelo’s restaurant. It was only fitting that they shared their last meal here, the place where they’d shared their first.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “What for? You’ll just remind me.”

 _Not anymore..._ John thought, but regardless of this saddening thought, he smiled weakly and nodded. 

Sherlock scanned John’s features, seeming to read something there that unsettled him.

“John.” Sherlock began. “There’s something I’ve wanted to say....” 

John shut his eyes.

 _Don’t say it. I know already. It was hard enough having Mycroft tell me, I don’t think I can tolerate hearing it from you. Don’t ask me to be your second. It’s too cruel, Sherlock_.

Sherlock’s mobile rang then, and John watched as the alpha growled with frustration before retrieving his phone and growled a furious, “What is it Lestrade?”

John stared down at the table and at Sherlock’s extended hand. He could so easily reach out for it. Take Sherlock’s hand in his own, but John wanted to posses Sherlock’s heart more, though he knew it was something he could never have.

Sherlock listened to whatever Lestrade had to say before answering that they were on their way and hurriedly hung up. Rising to his feet, Sherlock spared John an apologetic look.

“We’ll finish this conversation later… Lestrade called to say there’s been another murder.” 

John rose from his seat and bit his tongue, preparing himself for this.

“Sherlock, go on without me. Harry texted earlier, I think she might be drinking again. I wanted to go see her after lunch.”

Sherlock huffed with annoyance, but nodded his head in acceptance. 

“Fine. I guess there’s no helping it. Do hurry back though.” 

John forced a strained smile and nodded. Sherlock turned to leave again, but John’s hand shot out and took hold of Sherlock’s gloved one before his mind caught up with his body and he realized what he’d done.

Sherlock raised a brow, waiting for John to explain himself.

“I just… Goodbye, Sherlock.” John whispered and Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, sea green turning analytical, sensing something was truly off with John.

John’s mobile chimed then and he hastily released Sherlock’s hand to read the new text.

_Leave now._

John glared at his phone, realizing Mycroft was always watching. 

“Something the matter?” Sherlock asked.

“Harry needs me. I need to leave you.” John’s voice was husky, sentiment filling his vocals with the despairing pain of truly meaning his last of statements. 

“Go then. I’ll see you back at the flat later tonight… and then we are going to _talk_.”

John gave a rigid nod and watched as Sherlock spun on his heel and left Angelo’s first. John stood mutely, staring out of the restaurant window as the consulting detective flagged a cab, before entering it and it drove out of sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John sat himself in a private jet as it hummed with life, and stared out the window. He could see the gray suited gentleman standing beside a black vehicle, arms crossed, waiting to see John’s jet take off, as if to reaffirm that he’d won and John was truly leaving. John glared at the smugly grinning Mycroft even from a large distance. John wasn’t leaving for Mycroft. He was leaving for Sherlock. Withdrawing himself from the picture only made it easier for Sherlock to bond with his omega and gave John the distance he needed to attempt to mend his breaking heart.

The jet lurched and began gliding down the paved pathway, and the distant figure of Mycroft became smaller and smaller. John shut his eyes as the jet lifted off the ground and tears dampened his shut lids. 

_Goodbye Sherlock…_

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“John.” Sherlock called, sweeping into the flat, smiling wildly. The case was a cinch and he’d solved it. He was running on a high and would love nothing more than to show John just how keyed up he felt.

There was no answer. The flat was deadly still. Glancing around the flat, Sherlock found that John was nowhere in sight, but then he noticed a letter propped up against the back of John’s reserved red chair, with his name scribbled in John’s handwriting. 

Sherlock inquisitively retrieved the letter and read it.

_Sherlock,_

_I know how much you detest sentiment, so I will be brief and to the point… I love you. Always have. Since I first set eyes on you in that blasted lab. I never said anything because I knew this wouldn’t ever work out. You’re an alpha and I’m a beta. I still couldn’t resist you though. You are utterly maddening, fascinating, and just… unlike anyone I’ve ever met—and I’m sorry, this has gone all sentimental, forgive me this one time._

_As you noticed, I’ve been acting differently and pulling away and it was my desperate attempt at self preservation, but I’m afraid it did little good. This arrangement between us was doomed to fail and I’m sorry for it, but I couldn’t stay any longer. Yes, Sherlock, I’ve left and by the time you find this it will be too late to find me. It’s better this way, because I know what you would say. You would say I’m being overly emotional, that this doesn’t mean anything, that it changes nothing. Then you would most likely ask me to become your second. I can’t do that Sherlock. I won’t do that. I’m a very selfish man, Sherlock, and if I could have had you all to myself I'd... All that matters now is that I love you, wholeheartedly. Sherlock, this love I feel for you is more than I’ve ever felt in all my life._

_Sorry again, sentiment. Dreaded business that._

_Forgive me for taking the coward’s way out, Sherlock. I just couldn’t do this in person. However, I would like you to know that you’ve been… the most important person in my life and I will miss you, but it’s okay… At least, it will be. Given enough time, I will be able to let this love go and when that happens, I might come back, and maybe we could be friends again, but until then… Take care of yourself, eat regularly, and for God’s sake sleep even when working a case, please._

_I wish you all the happiness in the world with your omega… Well, maybe that’s not completely true, but I do wish you happiness. _

_Yours always,_

_John Hamish Watson_

Sherlock blinked within the silence of the flat and reread the letter, blinked again, then reread it four more times. Standing dumbly within the living room, the ticking of the clock within the living room being the only sound, other than the harsh panting becoming all the more rough and rabid projecting from Sherlock’s parted mouth. 

“Mycroft.” Sherlock whispered breathlessly, the letter crumpling within his clenched fist, extended claws tearing at his inner palm, but the pain didn’t register. 

“ _Mycroft._ ” Sherlock snarled enraged, fangs protruded from his mouth with the desire to tear at flesh. The alpha within rapacious—thirsty for blood. God help Sherlock when he found Mycroft. Mummy would not forgive him, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from murdering his brother.

. . .

Sherlock belted a monstrous outcry of rage. Four agents pinned him to the furthest wall of Mycroft’s office, allowing their superior space to collect himself. Sherlock tasted the bitter metallic flavor of blood, Mycroft’s—with feral fascination. Two agents on the ground held their bleeding arms and stared up in terror at the rampant alpha. Mycroft wasn’t doing any better, leaning back into his desk, winded, and hanging on to his bleeding shoulder; the gray of his suit turning dark with blood. 

Sherlock snarled ravenous for more. He wouldn’t kill Mycroft—at least… he’d try not to, for their mother’s sake, but he wanted to see Mycroft bleed just a bit more. He wanted to see Mycroft on the ground much like the two agents, and he would have, if not for the four agents pinning him against the wall, and not letting up on their pressure.

“Where is he, Mycroft? What have you done with my John?” Sherlock raged, thrashing against the agents, their grip loosening faintly, but not enough for Sherlock to escape and attack Mycroft for a _third_ time. Then their pressure doubled when the two agents on the ground stood, collecting their wits and added more pressure in restraining the rabid alpha before them. 

“ _Your John?_ Brother mine, so much sentiment.” Mycroft smiled momentarily. Sherlock knew Mycroft was hurting when the gentleman’s brows tensed and the smile faltered under a grimace of pain as he pushed off the desk to stand. 

“What have you done, Mycroft? _Where is John?_ ” Sherlock’s anger gave way to worry, knowing all the possible outcomes when it came to his brother, and paled as a morbid idea flicked within his mind.

_Was John even alive?_

“Now, brother, really? I would never kill John. I just… sent him far away. Somewhere you’d never be able to find him.”

Sherlock howled, the alpha within withering in pain, longing for its mate and Sherlock managed to kick out a leg, connecting a knee to one agent’s groin and sending the man down to the ground crying out in pain. Again Sherlock kicked out at the back of the leg of another agent and the man buckled to the ground, slamming down hard on his knees, giving Sherlock the perfect opportunity to kick the man square in the jaw and sent him falling back.

Sherlock pushed back, working through the four agents’ resistance and stared red eyed at Mycroft who looked apprehensive, and he should be, because Sherlock was going to obliterate him.

_Forgive me mother._

“ _I’ll kill you_.” Sherlock deadpanned, having never meant anything more than what he declared then. 

Mycroft had taken Sherlock’s John, and his alpha could not bear the idea of never seeing John again. He knew he could never find John now, not with Mycroft still alive and able to counter every pursuit he would make in search for the one person that meant everything to him.

Mycroft quickly moved to stand at the back of his desk, staggering in his movements, pain of his wounded shoulder weakening him, but then he pressed a button under his desk and several seconds later eight agents entered.

“I’m going to kill you, Mycroft!” Sherlock shouted as the newly arrived agents helped the tiring four in removing Sherlock from Mycroft’s office.

“I won’t marry that wench! I won’t marry any omega. Do you hear me? _Mycroft!_ ” Sherlock swore as the agents forced him down the hall. 

Mycroft was breathless as his men removed Sherlock from the room and six more agents entered his office. 

“Take me to the hospital.” Mycroft instructed his men, sight blurring from blood loss. Collapsing back onto his desk chair everything faded to darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten months came and went and John’s love for Sherlock never diminished. He knew it wouldn’t and told one lie in that letter he left for Sherlock. He could never fall out of love with Sherlock. This was a love that never ended, only grew, only consumed.

Ten months had passed and John had been relocated to six different countries, always when he’d begun to settle down in his new life. Each time, Mycroft found him a clinic to work in and John was grateful for the little bit of familiarity he received in a place unfamiliar to him. Ethiopia, Brazil, Hungary, Finland, Argentina and Greece; one after the other and he felt unbelievably lonely. The only good part to all of this was he never had to hear news about Sherlock’s marriage with his omega. These countries had other issues to deal with and Sherlock’s fame didn’t register in these areas. 

John had been tempted to look up Sherlock on the internet. To find out what this omega looked like, if Sherlock was happily married, but fearing the paining truth that would destroy him, hindered him in placing out any searches for his lost love. 

John lived a sad life, spending his time at the clinics, learning the language of each country while learning his way around the city. There were foreigners that showed an interest in him, but John turned down every advance that was sent his way and never gave anyone a second glance. Sherlock haunted his thoughts. A constant reminder of his insufficiency in their union tore at his heart and he knew he’d done the right thing for both of them. They would have never been happy after Sherlock married the omega. John would forever hate himself for not being enough and Sherlock would feel guilt over the pain he’d inflicted on John by making him a second. Even if by some miracle Sherlock had called off the wedding, John would feel shame for depriving Sherlock of what he deserved, children. 

John sat within his apartment, staring blankly at the blue wall before him, mourning the loss of Sherlock when his cell rang.

“Hello.” John greeted bleakly.

“You’re being relocated again. Poland. Someone will be there to pick you up in twenty minutes with your new information. Pack what is necessary, I’ll handle the rest.” Mycroft informed.

“Always to the point, very Mycroft of you.” John palmed his tired eyes.

The click of the other line echoed in John’s ear. Exhaling a heavy breath, John set his cell on the table, no longer needing it; another would be awaiting him in his new flat in Poland. Making his way to the bedroom, John began running a list of what he needed to pack.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sherlock dear, you should eat something.” Mrs. Hudson fretted from across the room, worriedly staring at the alpha pacing the floors.

“I was so close this time. _I was close!_ ” Sherlock growled, rage building and before he knew what he was doing, he’d knocked away all his hard work splayed out on the study table and upturned the desk.

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson admonished, but Sherlock wasn’t listening.

“ **I was close!** ” Sherlock hissed, the memory of entering the flat that smelled so much of John and finding a temperate cup of tea beside a chair within the living room taunted him. Sherlock had missed John by minutes and this thought sent his body pulsing and anger boiling through his veins. The flat had carried evidence that John had packed in a hurry… and Sherlock knew Mycroft was to blame for that.

“I’ll kill him, Mrs. Hudson. I swear, I’m going to kill Mycroft.”

“Please dear, don’t start this again. Your poor mother’s nerves wouldn’t be able to take it, not after the last time you sent Mycroft to hospital.” 

Sherlock snarled; the last attempt he’d taken on the government official’s life landed him locked up in a high tech facility, where he remained until his alpha side calmed and the feral need for bloodlust was doused. 

“It was a stab to the spleen. He didn’t need it anyways, and to hell with that witch’s nerves, if she wants children so badly let father take up a young omega.”

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson admonished, but Sherlock paid her no mind as he seated himself in a chair, leaned back, shut his eyes and pressed his clasped fingers under his chin.

“I just need to think.”

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips, but knew Sherlock wouldn’t hear her out, not when John Watson was missing. All the alpha had on his mind was finding John. He didn’t work cases. He didn’t leave his flat, but for the times when he traveled, chasing a lead in the hopes of finding John. Mrs. Hudson could barely get Sherlock to eat or care for himself. 

Sighing heavily, Mrs. Hudson conceded.

“I’ll just go downstairs and work up something for you to eat.” Mrs. Hudson mumbled on her way to the door, knowing it was unlikely Sherlock heard her as he had left to his mind palace already. 

_I’m going to find you John._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four more months had passed by and John's heartache remained—growing ever more unbearable. John hated himself. Hated how he’d fallen so completely and totally in love with Sherlock, when the alpha himself had mated another. Sherlock didn’t care about him, he’d married an omega. John shouldn’t waste his time grieving over the loss of Sherlock when Sherlock was living contentedly with someone else. John shouldn’t, but he did.

John traveled six more times since, to six more countries, before being sent to Denver, Colorado in America. John worked in a small clinic that was understaffed and required him to put in fourteen hour shifts six days a week. John didn’t mind though. Working distracted him. If he wasn’t working, it gave him time to think… to remember, and all John wanted to do now was forget. If only he could delete his memories like Sherlock could do himself. 

A thought occurred to John as he left the market and walked the three blocks to his apartment. _Did Sherlock delete the memories of him?_

No. Sherlock wouldn’t bother deleting him. John didn’t matter enough for Sherlock to delete, unless it was to make space for other information the consultant deemed more useful and needed. 

As John set his groceries on the counter of the kitchen island, he dipped his head low with the bitter feeling of self-loathing making a place within. John loved Sherlock, more than anything else in this world John _loved_ Sherlock. He would have continued down the path they’d made for themselves till he took his last breath. He would have loved none else—he still would only love Sherlock. John didn’t want anyone else and he knew that would never change. Sherlock was it for him; there could never be anyone else, only Sherlock.

John raised a hand to palm his stinging eyes, shadowing them, and let out a choked sob. His balance wavered as the grief overtook him and John stumbled to a nearby chair and sat heavily. 

“You machine!” John cursed within the silence of his flat. His words were cruel, his cadence weak, wavering on a whimper. 

John loved Sherlock, but Sherlock didn’t love him. Even as they lived together, worked together, and shared tender moments together, Sherlock had been planning to marry. Did he intend to tell him of his marriage that last day they ate at Angelo’s? Or would Sherlock have continued their lives together, married the omega secretly and then told him? Hell, Sherlock might have just decided to marry his omega and keep John, living a double life.

“ _You cruel man_.” John whispered to himself bowing his head low and pressing it to the cool table of the kitchen. His shoulders shook with the voiceless sobs as he wrapped his arms around his head and gave in fully to misery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trilling of his house phone blared in the early hours of the morning, jarring John to awareness. Shifting in bed, John groaned, trying to ignore the phone and fall back to sleep, but it persisted and he could fall asleep no more. Angrily sitting up in bed, John retrieved the phone from the bedside counter and husked out a weak greeting.

“Hello.” The hint of irritation layered John’s voice.

…

John paused for a reply, but there was none and his patience was waning. 

“Hello.” There was clear aggravation in his voice now, harsh and threatening. 

…

John wanted to curse whoever deemed it appropriate to make a prank call at—John glanced to the clock on the counter—3:23AM, but then there was a noise on the other end. A sharp inhale of breath and John furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Who is this?”

…

John wiped the grit from his eyes and snarled, “Speak.”

…

The breathing on the other end stilled and John wondered if they’d hung up, but then words came swiftly, resonating in his ear. 

“It’s really you.”

John’s breath stilled in his chest, unable to breathe when hearing such a familiar, hauntingly beautiful voice. 

“I’ve been searching for you this whole time. God, John, why didn’t you talk to me?”

John’s eyes fogged over in tears in less than a minute, and all he wanted to do now was cry and tell Sherlock he still loved him, and cry some more. He couldn’t though, because he knew he’d made the right decision for himself. 

Sherlock was married now. John winced at the reminder. Sherlock had married that omega… bedded her… Was probably living at Baker Street with her now. Sherlock must want him as his second if he’d gone through the trouble of tracking him down. Worthy to be Sherlock’s second, but not worthy enough to be his mate?

_You are too cruel Sherlock._

“Listen closely, John. I know Mycroft must have said some things to you and I will explain everything, I promise, but you have to—”

“No.” John rasped, wiping away his tears.

“What? John, please—”

“I left for a reason.”

“John, listen to me. I never—”

“I won’t be your second, Sherlock.”

“ _What?_ No…” Sherlock sighed heavily before he continued, “Just… just listen to me, John. I—”

“Goodbye Sherlock.”

“Wait, please, just listen to me. I didn’t—”

John clamped his eyes closed and he shut off the phone, his breathing coming out swift as he struggled to control the voiceless sobs. There was no time for him to give in to his emotions. He had to follow protocol. He had to do everything in his power to get away from Sherlock’s imminent presence.

Turning his phone back on, John hurriedly dialed a number as he rose from the bed and began retrieving his go bag and a pair of clothes he could change into. 

The phone was answered on the second ring.

“John.” Mycroft greeted coolly.

John despised Mycroft, but right now he needed Mycroft’s help. He couldn’t risk meeting Sherlock again. His location was compromised and he knew it wouldn’t be long before Sherlock came to him. 

“Sherlock’s found me.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, before Mycroft spoke again, voice filled with incredulity and uncertainty.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. He called. I’m not sure he’s in the country or if he’s traveling here, but he had my phone number.” John spoke shakily. 

“Get out of your place now. I’ll text you a location where a jet will be awaiting your arrival. Don’t waste time, go now John.”

John didn’t bother saying anymore, shutting off his phone, John hurriedly stripped out of his night clothes and changed into some day clothing. Clutching to his go bag with the most needed of things, John rushed for the front door of the flat and swung it open. John had to leave, he couldn't risk being found by Sherlock, because God help him, John didn't think he'd be able to run again if he saw Sherlock. Eventually he would stop looking for John. Sherlock wouldn't waste much more time on John, this John was hopeful for because his heart could not stand to hear Sherlock's voice again. It held too much pain.

. . .

Sherlock felt helpless, something he’d never felt before. Nothing was working out the way it should. He was an intelligent man who always thought several steps ahead, and yet, he kept failing. There was no point in calling John back. If there was one thing Sherlock knew, it was that John was annoyingly stubborn when he wanted to be and if he didn’t want to talk to Sherlock, John would just avoid his calls.

Standing within their flat—yes, _their_ flat (it would always be theirs), Sherlock couldn’t think of any other way he could get to John. Every time he’d boarded a plane Mycroft was tipped off. No matter what alias or disguise he’d used, Mycroft always caught on just before Sherlock made it to John’s location and he’d miss his chance. Sherlock thought by calling John with an untraceable phone and explaining himself, John would realize the truth. That he would follow his orders to ensure that they could meet up with his brother being none the wiser, but no… John wouldn’t even listen to him.

John was hurt. Sherlock’s features contorted to one of pain; he was hurting too. He’d been a fool trying to keep everything secret from John, but in his defense it was all to ensure he would remain protected—that all didn’t matter anymore. He’d inadvertently hurt John.

Pacing the floor of the living room, Sherlock carded his fingers through his hair and strived to find another solution. 

** Kill Mycroft: **

Although he rather loved that idea and knew he’d feel ultimate satisfaction from the arrogant ponce’s death, Sherlock couldn’t do it. No, he _could_ and _would_ if not for his exasperating mother. He hated her for her meddling, but she was his mother. The last time he stabbed Mycroft and almost killed him, he'd sent his mother in a rather drear state. Sherlock hated how he couldn’t stomach the idea of her dying of a heart attack from the shock of it. So no, although Sherlock was fully capable of killing Mycroft, he would not for his mother’s sake.

** Continue Searching for John: **

Sherlock could continue down the path he’d taken for over a year now, but it was all futile. Mycroft’s intervening and John’s refusal to speak to him by phone, meant there was virtually no way of Sherlock getting in contact with the beta.

Sherlock halted in his pacing, a somber expression crossing his face as a thought occurred to him—a solution he’d considered once. It seemed extreme before, but now… Now, after he’d exhausted all other efforts and options, it seemed like this was the only viable answer left.

Shutting his eyes briefly, Sherlock inhaled a shaky breath, held it for several beats of his pounding heart and released it with a shudder of his body. There was no other choice. For John, Sherlock would do anything, even this—something considered unthinkable for alphas. Without hesitation, Sherlock retrieved his untraceable mobile from his breast pocket and dialed a number he knew well, and it was answered after the first ring.

“Hello?” came the jovial greeting. 

“Mike Stamford.” Sherlock greeted solemnly.

“Sherlock! What a surprise, I haven’t spoken to you in a while now. How are things?” Mike asked kindly.

“Nevermind that. You once said you owed me a huge favor when I saved you from marrying that cheating ex of yours. Well I’m cashing in that favor.” Sherlock answered, hating how his voice wavered with a hint of apprehension.

“Yes. I did say that.” Mike cautiously recalled, sensing that this favor would be quite serious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John was now living in Dublin, Ireland. Far closer to England than he wanted to be, but regardless of this, John liked it here. He lived on the outskirts of the capital, working in another clinic, and spent most of his time off in his flat. He spent the first few weeks after leaving America wallowing. Mourning Sherlock, hating Sherlock for wanting him as his second, and hating himself for wanting to hear the alpha’s voice again.

John missed Sherlock so very much. He loved Sherlock and would never stop, but this kind of love was unhealthy. How could he still love a man who hadn’t cared for him enough to be faithful? True they might have been friends with benefits, but never had it felt like it was that. It felt… real, untainted. 

It wasn’t like Sherlock didn’t know how to be faithful. Sherlock hadn’t slept with anyone else since they’d started whatever it was they had between them. Or at least John didn’t think so. Sherlock spent all his nights with him for three whole years and most of their days were spent at the flat and working cases. There were the time gaps were John was at work or shopping and Sherlock was experimenting or exploring leads alone, but John never scented another on the alpha. There was also the fact that whenever someone flirted with Sherlock his face would contort to one of malicious intent or disgust. Why couldn’t Sherlock refuse an omega and remain exclusively John’s?

John didn’t want anyone after he’d laid eyes on Sherlock. John turned down every offer that came his way. No one could ever compare to the beauty and intelligence of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock’s alien-like features, unique, and alluring in their foreign beauty had ensnared John. Sherlock’s wit and cunning, brilliant mind sent John’s head reeling. Fascinated him like no other. John would have done everything and anything for Sherlock. That all didn’t matter—John was a simple, plain in comparison, beta. He could never give Sherlock, a powerful and well deserving alpha, pups.

John was nothing. Betas were scraps and John needed to remind himself he’d done the right thing. John could not have Sherlock. John could not give Sherlock what he needed. John should leave Sherlock to be happy with his omega so they could make a family together. Sherlock would eventually stop looking for him. If Sherlock needed something his omega could not give him, he was more than able to find another second. John’s heart could not bear being Sherlock’s second. John would rather live the remainder of his life alone, grieving the loss of his one true mate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock lay completely tense while staring at the white ceiling of the surgical room and then over to Mike Stamford, dressed in scrubs with a surgical face mask on. Kind eyes met Sherlock’s, unsure if this was really the best thing to be doing.

“Are you absolutely certain you want to do this Sherlock? This is the last time I will ask, because once I do this, there is no going back.” Mike gently spoke. The anesthesiologist moved to stand near Sherlock’s head and looked just as unsettled as Mike. 

Sherlock hated how his eyes gleamed and shut them to hide his apprehension.

 _I’ll do anything to have John back_.

“Get on with it.” Sherlock growled.

A moment later he felt liquid coursing through the needle that pierced his right arm and exhaled shakily as a woman spoke over the fogging of his mind.

“Count to ten with me, Mr. Holmes… 1… 2… 3… 4… 5…” 

Sherlock counted with the anesthesiologist, but each number became more difficult to utter as the drugs took effect and as he felt himself slip deep within his mind. The last thing to flash before his shut lids was an image of John. Sherlock relaxed and followed John into the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week after the procedure, Sherlock felt well enough to make the trip to his parent’s home. Having called a meeting with his family, knowing full well that they believed he’d finally given in to their demands, Sherlock felt a sense of vindication for what he was about to reveal.

As he stood within the lavishly decorated living room of his family’s estate, standing before his seated parents and a reclining, smugly grinning Mycroft, Sherlock smirked at the lot of them.

“Too long have I allowed you to control my life.”

“Sherlock.” Mrs. Holmes began, but Sherlock rose his hand up to silence her.

“I told you, I don’t want an omega. I would not marry anyone of your choosing, but you would not listen. I gave in, choosing the omega that had the longest to finish school in order to buy time. I hoped to convince you that I am capable of choosing who I want to bond with.”

“You can’t bond a beta man, Sherlock. You need pups!” Mrs. Holmes protested the absurdity of Sherlock’s intentions.

“So you say, but I don’t care. I don’t care that John and I can never fully bond as an alpha and omega can. I just know what I want and that isn’t an omega.”

“Sherlock, listen here—”

“No mother. I have listened for far too long. There is no more you can say that I will wish to hear. I called this meeting not to argue, but to announce to you all that I can no longer sire any pups.” Sherlock declared, glaring at his mother furiously before glancing over to a rather pale looking Mycroft.

The look of shock marring their faces calmed the pain and anger within Sherlock. 

“ _Sherlock_.” Mr. Holmes whispered softly.

Sherlock felt only slight remorse when his father looked at him as he did now, with horrified understanding. His father never pressured him to marry or mate an omega, but he’d always wished for Sherlock to know the joys of fatherhood. 

“You… you didn’t Sherlock. Tell me you didn’t!” Mrs. Holmes demanded, but when Sherlock merely retrieved a folder from his leather satchel at his side and handed it over to Mycroft, Mrs. Holmes wailed hysterically. 

Mycroft quickly opened the folder, reading rapidly, he flipped through it until his face was nearly as white as the pages.

“How could you demean yourself…? Vasectomy and Nodumectomy for an alpha is… Sherlock… _There is no reversing this!_ ” Mycroft admonished, revulsion in his eyes.

“That was the intention. I can no longer sire pups, so I am no longer considered a true alpha. No one will want to mate an alpha that isn’t virile. I’m impotent and just gave numerous interviews with well known and popular news stations, by tonight all of London will know, tomorrow the world. I’m sorry for this, but mother… Mycroft… you’ve left me with no other choice in my arsenal.” Sherlock hissed, knowing the next weeks would be complete hell; he’d have to remain indoors till the news died down.

“No omega will want you now—you’ve brought shame to the Holmes name!” Mrs. Holmes blubbered, but Sherlock didn’t care. He didn’t care that he’d be ridiculed, that he’d lowered his status and was now considered far lower than any omega; none of it mattered to him. 

“Was John Watson worth this shame?” Mycroft ranted, palming his mouth, unable to get his head around the truth. How he’d been blind of Sherlock’s actions and because of it, Sherlock had done what he could not fix.

“Yes. Yes, he is. If I could have removed my scent glands without dying in the process I would have removed everything that made me an alpha.” Sherlock answered.

The removal of his knot and cutting his tubes was something he was still trying to come to terms with. It wasn’t that he regretted it, but the change would be something that took some time to accept. He could never knot John, never tie them together in that way that made the inner alpha within feel at peace.

Mrs. Holmes continued to cry in hysterics, Mr. Holmes attempted to calm her, and all the while Mycroft kept looking from the documents incredulously and back up to Sherlock.

“Where is he, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked of the gentleman. He’d done all of this for John, and if he never saw him again… His weakened, broken hearted alpha would surely wither away to nothing.

There was nothing Mycroft could do. Sherlock could hardly be considered an alpha now. No omega would want him, neither would any alphas, or betas—except maybe one. Mycroft stared at Sherlock mutely, lips sealed tightly, a grimace tensing the corners of his mouth as he spat out, “Dublin, Ireland. Willow Hills Apartment, room 33A. Chester and Olive Street.”

Sherlock shut his eyes, his mother’s weeping dulled as his heart pounded strongly, his stomach knotting up painfully, but he couldn’t give. He needed to get to John. Spinning on his heel, Sherlock opened his eyes and strode out of his parents’ home to his awaiting cab.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John lived his days on autopilot. He preformed his tasks with a hollow feeling in his heart. John didn’t much talk to his coworkers, only what needed to be spoken for work purposes. Most thought him a stuck up ass, but John could care less what they thought of him. John didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be back in London, at 221B with his alpha—it didn’t matter that he was a beta and couldn’t bond with Sherlock, because Sherlock would always be his alpha. Only… Sherlock chose an omega and that was why he was here.

It was John’s day off and he could care less about going out. He spent most of his morning and early part of the afternoon sleeping away the day. Only in his dreams was he able to feel at peace in the imaginary arms of his alpha, scenting the sweetness of his alpha pheromones, but in the end his dreams always ended and left him bereft.

John reluctantly woke at one in the afternoon and slowly slipped out of the bed where he then enjoyed a hot shower, his skin stinging slightly from the heat of the water and his head felt light from the steam building. John exited the shower and slipped on a pair of loose gray sweats and a plain brown shirt before padding his way to the kitchen and preparing himself a hot cup of tea and two slices of toast. 

After eating John moved to lie on the couch, face flat on the cushion, and watched some Irish soap opera that didn’t quite reach John’s conscious. His thoughts lingered back on the dream he’d had from earlier. It was such a nice dream and John wished for nothing more than to drift back off to sleep and find those arms once more. 

John’s eyes were just shutting; hope of another dream in his heart, when there came three sharp insistent knocks on his door. Tired dark blue eyes opened and stared over his folded arm to the door ten or so feet away and he quietly contemplated ignoring it, hope that the person beyond it would leave him to his wallowing in peace, but then another three knocks followed, louder now and all the more insistent. 

John groaned, rubbed his face on his arms, exhaled a heavy breath of frustration, but nonetheless rose from the couch and made his way over to the door. As his hand gripped the lock the impatient person beyond the door, gave to fully pounding on the wood and John grew immediately agitated.

John swung the door open and readied himself to throw out a colorful array of curses, but then things happened far too quickly for him to register in time. John briefly met a pair of familiar crystalline blue eyes before a hand slammed the door fully open, hard enough that it battered back against the wall. A pair of large pale hands shot out and gripped to his face, forcing him to raise his head high enough to meet those blue eyes again and John’s curses fell away and were replaced by a wounded cry at the sight of the very man he’d spent more than a year avoiding.

“John.” Sherlock rasped, his voice raw on emotion when cool hands reverently caressed the contours of his face, pausing briefly before they lowered and lanky arms wrapped around his waist, tight and unforgiving in the fierce hug they gave.

John sobbed against Sherlock’s chest, scenting what he considered to be _his_ alpha. Only… Sherlock could no longer be considered his and at this thought John felt his heart give a sharp pulse. A distorted weak keen filled John’s lungs when Sherlock nuzzled his neck, scenting him as if he were his still.

 _You’re no longer mine. You’re married, but I can’t pull away,_ John thought, biting his tongue, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. The alpha’s scent, the feel of Sherlock’s body, being scented adoringly, it was slowly asphyxiating him, until John was breathless and unable to speak. He could think, and those thoughts were damning.

_Married. You’re married. You’ve bonded with another. You lied. You broke me, Sherlock._

A pitchy sound burst forth, a noise brought on by the raw stabbing of his heart, and finally he found the strength to push back against Sherlock’s chest and break their melded bodies apart. Stumbling back and further into his home, John trembled violently, his erratic breaths coming out in harsh pants that ended with soft mews of sorrow. He was so very close to hyperventilating, straddling the line of a full on panic attack. 

“John.” Sherlock rushed, taking steps towards him, but John shakily raised a hand, willing Sherlock to stay back.

Sherlock steps slowed and became still, reluctantly, appearing troubled by their separation, and stood no more than three feet from John. Pale blue stared insistently up into deep blue, and John felt the cool trickle of tears break from his eyes as he continued to look upon the man that had laid waste to his heart.

“Go.” John broke out in a harsh breath, raising a hand to his chest and rubbing at the soreness that lay beneath. 

“No.” Sherlock’s eyes hardened, body visibly tense.

John shook his head, clamping his wet eyes shut, and removed his hand from his chest to angrily wipe away the tears.

“I said go.”

“I said no.”

“Sherlock!” John shouted, pain giving way to anger.

_You lied to me. You lied to me. You lied to me._

“I never married anyone!” Sherlock snarled, electric blue clashing with John’s murky blue as they flew open.

“What?” John gasped, his trembling coming to a halt, unable to comprehend Sherlock's words.

Sherlock’s features creased with a solemn expression and John only then realized just how pale the alpha really was. Most certainly several shades paler than he’d been before John left him. There were bags under the consultant’s eyes, evidence he’d gone more than three days with little, if not any, sleep. And Sherlock was thinner. His always alien-like cheekbones were more defined and his waist was troublingly narrower. 

“I didn’t get married. I was never going to marry the omega my parents introduced me to. I’d chosen her out of the many candidates, because she was the youngest and wanted to finish her schooling before we would bond. It gave me time.” Sherlock started and John felt the sudden need to sit himself down, and quickly stumbled to a nearby chair where he watched Sherlock pace the floor of his living room. 

“I didn’t want a mate, and this gave me time to develop a plan that would ensure I didn’t need to bond. Then I met you…” Sherlock looked up at John, hopeful to receive something in John’s stare; he didn’t find it and pursed his lips in a frown.

“You should have come to me. You should have told me about Mycroft. I… I never wanted you to learn about… I refused to marry her, John. That day Mycroft came to visit two months before you left, I refused the marriage and Mycroft wasn’t pleased. My mother threatened to disinherit me and take away my trust fund, and Mycroft swore to blacklist me so that I would never work as a consultant again—much like they did five years before, so I’d conform again, but I could care less. I had you and that was all I wanted.”

John leaned forward, elbows pressed into his legs and he bowed his head in his hands, struggling to come to terms with Sherlock’s admission.

“Mycroft realized I wouldn’t conform and so he went to you and… you, John Watson, left me.”

John squeezed his eyes shut tight. Mycroft had played him and he’d foolishly put himself in the palm of the government official’s hand. 

“You should have come to me John.” Sherlock snarled once more. “You should have trusted me.”

“We were never more than… than… _whatever it was_ , but it wasn’t… It was _never_ …”

A crash had John’s head snapping up in surprise, finding Sherlock had thrown the coffee table across the room, breaking it, and the alpha was now glaring at John in a way that sent the beta’s heart pounding.

“You knew what we were! I might never have said… I meant to say always, and I never have… I might never say it, but you know John. You know me well enough to know I don’t do things just to do them. I… We can’t bond, but we had something. I’ve never… What we did… I’ve never been with anyone else. I— You know an alpha does not knot without… You know John. I knotted you every time we were together, it was my way of _showing_ you.”

John’s eyes stung by Sherlock’s rather sentimental words; though to most it would make little sense, it made clear sense to John. Still, he couldn’t keep Sherlock’s gaze and lowered his eyes to stare down at the coffee table’s broken leg.

“You know alphas only do _that_ with their bond mates and we did it every bloody time. I never looked at another. We shared our minds, our lives, and our bodies. We were bonded in every way, but for the one way we biologically cannot be. So _don’t_ say we were never _that_.”

John knew, but he’d denied it because…

“I’m not an omega, Sherlock… You’re an alpha that deserves to have children.” 

John was startled when Sherlock laughed, a sardonic sort of laugh. 

“When have I ever said that’s what I want? I might be an alpha, but I have never thought of having children, and I can assure you that even if I wanted them, my profession would most assuredly put any children I had in danger.”

“But… I can’t… I’m not as submissive or nurturing as an omega. I could never give you what your alpha needs.” John stared despairingly at the alpha before him, wanting nothing more than what was in front of him, but feeling undeserving. 

“Thank God for that.” Sherlock’s features softened as a faint smile played at one end of his lips. 

“That is why I… so much for you. John, you are a strong man. You’ve seen the evils of this world and have remained untainted by it. You are courageous. You are stubborn. You are the moral compass of my heart and I need you for all that you are. I don’t need an omega. _I need you, John._ ”

John’s brows tensed in a pensive grimace of longing and sorrow. Growing all the more pained when Sherlock’s eyes suddenly became pools of fear and he moved to stand in front of him. John watched with slight worry as Sherlock lowered himself to kneel in front of him, his hands fisting at his sides and he bowed his head, almost guiltily.

“I…” Sherlock began, unable to meet John’s searching gaze. “I started looking for you the moment I found out you’d left, but Mycroft foiled every attempt I made. My mother and Mycroft believed that if you stayed away long enough, I’d eventually move on and marry an omega, but I couldn’t do it, John. You realize now at least why I can’t be with anyone else, don’t you?” Sherlock was only then able to raise his head and find John nodding voicelessly.

Sherlock closed his eyes and smiled to himself, a frail, hardly visible one that lasted no more than three seconds before the alpha lowered his head once more.

“I finally called you, but you wouldn’t hear me out and I… I had to take drastic measures. I… Before we met, I’d thought of doing what I’ve now done to ensure I’d never bond with an omega, but I didn’t think I needed to do it after I found you, because I thought you’d stay, but…”

“Sher… Sherlock, what have you done?” John shakily asked, his trembling having started once more with the sudden way Sherlock was behaving. He was… Sherlock was fearful of John’s reaction for something he’d done and John, for the life of him, could not understand what it was. But he was assuredly terrified.

“I… had to get you back. Every attempt I made was futile. I couldn’t get you back unless I… I needed you and it doesn’t matter John. Please. Please, understand I’d do it again. I don’t care what people think of me. I don’t care what the world will say. I just need you, John.”

“Sherlock, what did you do?” John barked out an order and Sherlock flinched before murmuring his answer.

“I’ve had a vasectomy and nodumectomy.”

John’s shut his eyes tightly, willing the reappearance of tears away as he struggled to moderate his breathing, because breathing was all the more so difficult with this knowledge.

“This… This is my fault.” John whimpered, palming his shut eyes, because though he tried not to, the tears were rushing out of his sealed lids.

“No, John. _No_. This was my decision.”

“You did it so you could be with me! Is that how you found me? Mycroft told you once he learned?” John words shook with his body, because it hurt.

“John, please.”

“Sherlock, because of me you’ve… you’ve mutilated yourself.” John sobbed harshly and suddenly arms were wrapped around him and Sherlock’s nose was pressing against his hairline. Alpha pheromones filled John’s senses and his shivering stopped, but the tears did not.

“Shhh, John. I told you, this isn’t your fault. This was my decision. I don’t regret it, John. I swear, I don’t. It’s… It’s going to be different, but I will grow accustomed to it.”

“Sherlock.” John whimpered, his own arms moving to wrap around the alpha he loved as he buried his face against his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“I have you now. That’s all that I want.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I… I… I should have listened to you when you’d called. I shouldn’t have left. If I’d stayed… You’d still...”

“It’s done. I don’t regret it. I’d do anything to be with you.” Sherlock declared, pulling away and raising John’s head up so that he could meet his gaze.

John blinked past the tears and stared up with understanding and care at his mate, because that was what they were… What they’d been and he’d been too foolish and insecure to realize it. Sherlock loved him. Though he couldn’t say it, John knew now more than ever Sherlock loved him.

“I… I love you.” John croaked, choking back on tears when Sherlock answered his confession with a brilliant smile.

“I knew that already.” Sherlock answered smugly and John strangled out a laugh, but then Sherlock’s lips pressed against his own and he hummed happily in his love’s arms.

“Show off.” John grumbled shyly when Sherlock pulled away enough to and then moaned happily as Sherlock stroked at his hair and his other hand palmed his cheek, cupping it lovingly. 

“I want you.” John groaned, it had been so long and all he wanted now was to feel their love.

“Oh, um… John, I… I’m still… We won’t be able to… for another week as I’m still healing.” Sherlock bumbled out his explanation, a light flush on his cheeks.

John smiled fondly at Sherlock’s timidity and leaned forward so that he pressed his forehead against Sherlock’s own.

“I can wait.”

“And… It… It won’t bother you that I won’t be able to…”

John laughed, so full of mirth that Sherlock brightened at the sound.

“I actually wouldn’t mind. I’m a beta Sherlock, and although I wouldn’t complain if you could still knot me, I… It’d be nice to do it this way too.”

“We could always invest in toys.” Sherlock growled playfully and John laughed harder, raising his hands to palm Sherlock’s face affectionately.

“I believe we could do that.”

“John…” Sherlock said seriously, his smile fading with the gravity of his next words. “Don’t you ever run where I can’t follow.”

John stilled, taking in the seriousness of Sherlock’s words, and nodded his head in acceptance. 

“I promise you, I won’t ever leave you. I’m your mate for life.”

“Good, because I do… _you know_ … you.”

John chuckled and answered with his own confession, “I love you too.”

“We can’t… for another week, but I… could we scent, because I very much would like for us to smell of each other.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, closing his eyes and enjoyed the way Sherlock accepted and held him back with equal need.

John would never doubt Sherlock again and Sherlock would never allow John to question his feelings for him. Mycroft could do nothing that would ever separate them as Sherlock and John were now and would forever be bound—not by biology, but by the love they have for each other. Sherlock was John’s mate and John was Sherlock’s. And when they got back home, John would learn there was a gift waiting, hidden in Sherlock’s sock drawer. A question Sherlock had all the intention of asking the very night John had left him. A black velvet box was waiting for their return, and Sherlock would most certainly ask John that question this time. Sherlock would receive many, many, _many_ yes’ from an ecstatic, and bursting with love, John. A week after, John had many, many, _many_ ways of getting Sherlock to cry out a mantra of his own, _yes’._

  



End file.
